


Retribution

by attches



Series: Retribution [2]
Category: Bellamione - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25943809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attches/pseuds/attches
Summary: Hermione returns from the Repentance but not everything is as it appears. The Ministry is still under the Unknown and there are rumors of something being hidden in its depths. It is up to the Golden Girl, with the help of Bellatrix, to uncover the secrets. Full description inside. Sequel to Repentance but can be read alone. Majority Bellamione.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Series: Retribution [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882927
Kudos: 17





	1. In the Beginning

**Description:** Returning from the Repentance, Hermione is left to pick up the pieces of her shattered life. The Unknown are still in control but there are rumors of the group hiding their project in the depths of the Ministry. Now it is up to the Golden Girl to learn the muggles’ secrets, but to do so, she first needs to recruit the help of a certain dark witch. As they delve deeper, Hermione finds herself not only on a journey to uncover the classified information, but on a quest to rediscover herself as well.

 **Note:** Hello all. This is Retribution, the second part to Repentance. The first part was more of a set up for this, since I want to focus on Bellatrix and Hermione growing closer and developing as people together in this. I am not sure on a set length or regular updating schedule. School is about to start back up but I will try to update at least once a month. Also disclaimer, I neither own nor profit off of this.

**1: In the Beginning**

After that fateful day in the arena, Hermione went back to Grimmauld Place. It was lonely, desolate, and everything reminded her of Harry. She wanted to leave the old house except there would be nowhere else to stay and this was now her property. It turned out that the Boy Who Lived had expected his death and secretly updated his will. Hermione was left with everything except the Golden Boy’s brooms which went to Ginny, and had no idea how to handle the new wealth. She had also been unprepared for the barrage of fame that followed her survival.

These days, everyone wanted a glimpse of the only remaining member of the Golden Trio. She didn’t know how she could be seen as the hero, adding onto her already highly esteemed status, when she had been forced to kill Rabastan Lestrange. Then again, Hermione never actively tried to harm the man, only restrain him. And despite her magic propelling the Death Eater into a tree causing his neck to crack from the force, nobody held her at fault for his death. To the rest of the magical world, the Gryffindor had dueled and won. The reaction to Bellatrix Black’s survival was another story. After torturing her husband to death and returning, the famed lieutenant’s crimes were officially pardoned because of her participation, if it could even be considered that, in the Repentance and she renounced the Lestrange name. In an interview with the Daily Prophet, which was a welcome distraction from the Unknown’s ongoing control, general morale booster, and Narcissa Malfoy’s attempt to humanize her estranged sister, the dark witch spat when asked about her ex-husband.

Hermione, who actively and adamantly refused to read such mind numbing and rumor spreading tabloid garbage, had read from Luna’s letter that the interview had been very effective in quelling the general moral issues regarding Bellatrix and her participation in the last two wizarding wars. It would seem that the supremacist held very little conviction about blood purity in the threat of returning to Azkaban. This made Hermione question the enigmatic witch, had she truly changed? Now, the general consensus about the ex-Death Eater was that the woman had truly repented for her crimes against the magical world. This simple and pervasive agreement, however, further undermined the previous plights of the war while raising the problem of the use of magic in public.

If one were to believe the words of Mister President, an extreme concentration of magic had been the undoing of Hogwarts and if society wasn’t careful going forward, any excessive use, no matter the morals behind it, could lead to the destruction of magical Britain. As it stands, the illustrious school continues to remain a depressing pile of collapsed stone. Unfortunately, admittance letters were automatic and nobody knew how to stop them from being sent out. What was worse was McGonagall now had to contact every potential future muggleborn student to explain that the building would not be running in time for the start of term. At least the Headmistress had been able to offer the option of temporarily lodging with the remaining Hogwarts’ professors at Ilvermorny in North America. If a student chose this option rather than self studying or home schooling, choices that were only available to those living in the magical world, they would stay on the American property in the English school’s expanded temporary area. Of course, attendance was predicted to reach a historic low this year, the possible percentage was rumored to be even lower than the school’s first year running after its founding. This idea had been proposed only out of respect for the two countries’ longstanding alliance both in the magical and muggle spheres.

A knock at the door brought her out of her musings. Hermione frowned, she hadn’t been expecting anyone. Ever since returning from the Repentance, the Golden Girl couldn’t bring herself to visit the Weasleys and with the recent events, the complete pardoning of Bellatrix Black, she hadn’t felt particularly compelled to reach out to Neville either. The only person to truly contact her since then was Luna, but she was abroad searching for mythical creatures with her father.

Hermione slowly meandered toward the door, hopefully willing any journalists away by the wait. Grumbling about paparazzi creating a consumerist culture, she opened the door, allowing the hinges to loudly creak from the weight.

“It took you long enough. What were you doing in there?” Standing at the door was Andromeda Tonks, smirking. The healer could have been her mentor, should she have pursued the offer from St. Mungos.

Unfortunately, this caught the Brightest Witch of Her Age off guard as she stood gaping and stuttering, “Why are you- wait what? Sorry Andy, please come in.”

Hermione led the way into the sitting room despite the two being in one of the pureblood’s ancestral homes. She was thankful for this sliver of decency, it made everything feel almost normal. Falling into the English routine, the young woman began to set out the tea and biscuits before turning to her companion inquisitively.

Andy was leaning forward, this would not be good, before asking seriously, “How have you been, Hermione?” She looked around the chaotic house and it was a mess inside. Since returning, and even before that, the younger woman had fallen into a sort of depression. Nothing made sense to her these days and it broke the Know-It-All deeply. She couldn’t see the point in living if nothing had reason. But it wasn’t like she was suicidal. No, for Hermione, the pain was a dull ache and the sadness had given way to something so deep and profound that she felt it wouldn’t end even after death.

She shrugged. “Truth is, I don’t know anymore. You know, Andy, I’ve devoted my life and entire being to the pursuit of knowledge. I’ve always considered myself to be capable of rational thought and believed that reason rules all. And I know that everything happens for a reason, that you must look to the past to change the future. And I have always been able to see it so clearly— to be able to read a person and to understand their own fate by their history. But I don’t understand right now and I haven’t been able to even grasp the reality of anything lately… I just, why is this happening? I can’t understand but I need to, I need this.” Hermione was desperate, but for what, she did not know.

Always the professional, Andy remained calm but her eyes showed sorrow. “Have you been in contact with anyone? Molly wants to know when you’ll stop by the Burrow and Fleur is worried about you, we all are.” It had been an act of despair to mention the French quarter-Veela. In her fourth year, when the TriWizard Tournament came, the two witches had secretly gotten together and had a lustful affair. It continued to remain confidential knowledge and only the Tonks were privy to such information. Hermione told the family when she and Tonks were becoming good friends and Andy was teaching her specific, complex healing magic. Of course, this had been before the hunt for Horcruxes

Sometimes Hermione thought about what could have been. Or what she could have done if she wasn’t always looking after the boys. Or if she never even had to fight the Dark Lord. Sometimes she was a healer alongside Andy, or an Unspeakable in the Ministry, or perhaps she was being groomed to become the Minister, and other times she graduated early after her stint with the time turner to develop and enforce rights for magical creatures. The possibilities were endless. Though, she knew that everything had happened for a reason, but if only she could just figure it out. Then maybe she could begin to do something, anything other than moping around the empty house always thinking of a book she could be reading while never actually searching. It felt like a downward spiral. Hermione knew she had to surface back eventually but right now, doing nothing just felt so comfortable. She felt grateful to the dull ache for keeping the panic at bay.

Hermione composed herself before quietly sighing, “Other than you, the only person I’ve talked to is Luna. But Andy, why would you ask when you already know this?”

“Because I wanted to make sure you did. But if that didn’t lift you from your slump, then I might know something that will.” Always the vigilant Black, Andy narrowed her eyes as she looked around before nodding and casting protection wards across the house. The healer’s eyes were hard as she leaned in, making sure she had Hermione’s complete attention before continuing.

“On desk duty, Nymph heard some things floating around the Aurors about the Unknown. She’s not sure what it is yet and she couldn’t come here so she wanted me to pass the message along. But there’s something not right in there, it’s something hidden in the depths of the Ministry that’s related to the muggles, they’re storing something deadly down there. She’s positive it’s related to the true reason nobody can use ‘excessive’ magic and she thinks it’s got to do with the radioactivity.”

Hermione was silent for a moment as the information sunk in and her mind kicked into overdrive. Andy sat watching the transformation in the young woman. It looked as if the melancholy was being lifted off as the Golden Girl’s shine began to return. What a refreshing sight. “Even if that is the case, why did she want to tell me and not Shacklebolt?”

“Think about it. The entire Ministry is being controlled under this covert muggle group that nobody knows anything about because the threat of losing magical Britain is too great. Kingley cannot take part in any conspiracies against the Unknown and you know this, it’d be political suicide. And not to mention the purebloods are only going along with this in the hopes that those who were big supporters of you know who will not be put on trial. She spoke to me about this before, you know, about if you would be willing to help… she was worried about the toll everything took on you and she asked if this would be too much. I told her that you wouldn’t let her down, Hermione, please don’t let us down. You are the only one who can find the link between muggle science and our magic that they’ll listen to.”

Unfortunately, the change in the young woman had only been temporary. Although she was interested, the Brightest Witch of Her Age never delved too deep into alchemy, the ancient practice devoted to the fusion of magic and chemistry. Needless to say, she was not sure where to begin, if at all. Why did the weight of the magical world rest on her shoulders? Sometimes Hermione found it amusing that even the purebloods of the Order relied so heavily on the muggleborn. She understood why she was so important to them, but ever since the Fall of Hogwarts, she felt she hadn’t been able to recover and now her energy was completely depleted. It felt like there was nothing left that could be done.

“Andy, even if what Nymph says is true, I don’t even know where I’d need to begin. I mean, I don’t know enough about alchemy and there aren’t very many books available about it. As far as I know, only the oldest families have such outdated information and I don’t think any of them would allow me to even step foot on their property.” It would seem that the young woman would need another push.

“Hermione, the Black library holds one of the most comprehensive collections on all magical subjects, including alchemy. And I’ve spoken to Narcissa about this and she’s willing to accompany you, seeing as Bellatrix never forgave me for leaving for Ted… But all I’m asking you to do is please consider this. If and when you do ever regain your Gryffindor thrill for adventure, my young sister requests you notify her before the end of the month.”

With an excuse about Nymph being on duty today and having to take care of Teddy, Andy stood up and began to make her way back to the door. Hermione remained at a loss for words. She knew she would need to do something about the current situation. But for now, all she could do was sit and stare at the wall as she imagined a simple, muggle life away from magic. And although she was a war hero, the Golden Girl could not imagine herself leading a rebellion against the muggle scientists. Lately, she hasn’t been able to imagine much for herself as her mind has been stuck in a loop, only thinking about the different ‘what if’ scenarios.


	2. The Start at the Beginning of a Journey

**Note:** Hello all. This chapter is a decent length, but fair warning, I am not sure if every one will. Though, I will certainly try to maintain some consistency. Also I apologize for any odd spacing or formatting, I am still new at using this website and am working to figure out the typography. Thank you for reading and please feel free to comment.

**2: The Start at the Beginning of a Journey**

The deadline was fast approaching and Hermione was still none the wiser of what to do. She didn’t know why she couldn’t decide, she just wasn’t able to. And everytime she thought she was getting close to finding a reason to seek out Narcissa Malfoy of all people, she’d find herself wishing for the boys all over again. She knew she was a Gryffindor, so why couldn’t she be brave? The Golden Girl wondered if she had developed a strong aversion to adventure and had become a coward or if this response was normal, that most others would opt to do nothing. But then she’d wonder what she could ever mean by ‘normal’ because nothing, she found, ever was. Though, come to think of it, Hermione wasn’t exactly fearful either. Somewhere deep within the recesses of her mind, she knew this was all psychological. But that was the issue, she had fallen victim to her worst enemy, herself, more specifically, her cowardice. And for the second time that day, she found herself wishing for the boys’ comforting presences. Except they were gone and there was nothing to bring them back and Hermione could not accept this.

The Brightest Witch of Her Age knew that logically, she needed to take up Andy’s offer but she just couldn’t bring herself to focus on that. Instead, she found herself going through Harry’s will, something she asked Shacklebolt to read so often that he ended up giving the Golden Girl, seeing as she was the primary receiver, the Boy Who Lived’s will. Hermione was looking for the Resurrection Stone. Surely she hadn’t lost it, had she? She found herself unable to recall where she had put it along with the cloak. _Think Hermione, think!_

But she couldn’t. Wracking her brain, she was unable to find any memory of the stone. Harry’s most precious items had been placed in Sirius’ old room, where the godson had stayed during the odd period between Hogwart’s collapse and the Repentance, it had felt necessary to reunite possessions of the two men together. Behind Black’s childhood door was a pouch containing the remnants of the Golden Boy’s original wand, a stand holding the Elder wand, the case with the Invisibility Cloak, and the few memories the orphan had of his parents. Hermione’s eyes scanned the document once more. In her mind, she had made a checklist of where every item was. But everything was accounted for so why wasn’t the stone being mentioned? Had this been a misight she never noticed before or was the will somehow altered since she last saw it? No, that wasn’t possible and she knew this. There was no mention of the Resurrection Stone in Harry Potter’s will. And Hermione wondered what happened to the small piece of ancient magic.

After the final battle and before the fall, Harry had informed the rest of the Trio about what had transpired in the Forbidden Forest when he bravely headed to his death. He had also told the two about the stone inside the golden snitch and of his parents’ declaration that they’ll always be with him. It had been quite touching and moved two thirds of the Trio to tears. But he never mentioned what happened to it and Hermione couldn’t figure out where he’d place it. Rather than search for it, a task that would ultimately become quite tedious, she decided to look through the few memories Harry saved in some vials for her.

Since his death, Hermione had not been able to even go near the memories. She couldn’t even pick up the container so how would she bring herself to live out her dead best friend’s most precious memories? But, like everything else she had been presented in life, the Golden Girl would manage one way or another.

Standing up from an old chest she found herself resting on, Hermione wrote a quick letter to the only person she knew who had a pensieve. Fortunately, considering her current state, it was the one person who might be able to bring Hermione out of her, for lack of a better term, slump, her mentor and longtime friend, Minerva McGonagall. Unfortunately, the Brightest Witch of Her Age had yet to get another pet after Crookshanks disappeared to Merlin knows where and Harry’s owl Hedwig died about two years ago, leaving her without a carrier to deliver the message. Chuckling, Hermione wondered if she could just hand it over in person, but then again the message did ask to arrange a meetup between the two.

Owless and without any other way of delivering the message, she realized she’d have to make a quick visit. It seemed that in order for Hermione to reach a decision, she would end up having to address the other aspects of her life as well. Closing her eyes, she conjured an image of the old home before the sensation washed over her. Before her stood the Burrow, which was as rickety as ever. With her letter in hand, she steeled herself before heading to the door and knocking. 

There was a moment of silence before hushed whispers could be heard on the other side. “Who is it?”

“Um, Hermione Granger.” There was a pause.

“What form does your patronus take?”

“An otter.” The door creaked open slightly and Hermione saw a flash of red.

“Oh Hermione dear, come in, come in! Sorry about all that precaution, you can never be too sure these days.” It reminded her of when the Order was moving Harry. Molly Weasley ushered the young woman, who was wondering about what the second sentence’s meaning and if something had happened that she missed, in. It was nearing dark and the Gryffindor could smell a large hearty dinner being cooked. She frowned, it seemed that Molly was still not used to cooking for fewer people yet.

“I’m sorry about not notifying you about my visit, I was actually hoping to see if I could borrow Pig?” Hermione immediately felt bad as the words left her lips and Molly’s eyes saddened at the mention of her dead son’s owl. Had this been a mistake? Before she could ponder this anymore, she watched as the older woman physically dispelled the sadness away. Now, in its place was the familiar expression of maternal care.

“Of course and why don’t you stay for dinner? You haven’t visited since before…” Molly trailed off, unsure of what to say. Before what exactly? Before her son had died as a sacrifice, or maybe payback, for the country. Neither witch wanted to offend the other.

“I think this would be a good change in scenery for me.” Hermione was thankful for the offer. Upon entering, she had been immediately reminded of all the memories she made with the boys. And for the first time in a long time, the thought of the boys brought her peace. Maybe she was getting better.

“Why don’t you go have a seat at the table, the food is almost ready.” Molly turned towards the kitchen and paused before saying quietly, “You know, dear, we don’t blame you for what happened and we never have. You did what you could and I hope you know this.” Hermione was at a loss for words. Rather than forming a coherent thought and speaking it, she was left gaping as she opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, mimicking the expression of a fish.

There was a loud _pop!_ in the kitchen followed quickly by scolding. It was most likely one of the twins, though much more likely George than Fred. Fred had been much more reserved since finding himself an inch from death in the final battle. All of the Weasleys except for Bill, Charlie, and Ron came out from around the house and began to assemble around the table with Hermione in the middle. It was nice and reminded her of the old days before everything had gotten so complicated.

Ginny, whose eyes were red, it seemed she was still taking in the news about Harry, was the first to speak. “Hey Hermione, it’s been a long time. We haven’t seen you since…” She trailed off, unsure of what to say next. Rather than finish the thought, the redhead tried again, “You know you’re welcome here anytime, right?” The Weasleys had taken the boys’ death hard but at least they had each other, Hermione, she realized, was all alone.

“I know, it’s just been rough lately. But thank you, I really appreciate it.” She wasn’t sure of what else to say. Luckily Arthur was able to direct the conversation towards the muggle artifacts he was researching at work.

“Hermione, I have a question about something. At work, we’ve been researching muggle technology to help with making the Ministry more accessible to the Unknown. Now, my team has been working to understand this for quite some time and none of us have gotten any closer. What is the use of this? We’ve been clicking it and the raised, oblong pieces move down but nothing happens.” At that moment, despite everyone eating, Arthur pulled out a disconnected remote from his pocket. Hermione smiled, it truly was just like old times.

“It’s a remote and can be connected to a variety of technology, do you know where it came from?”

Unfortunately, the Weasley patriarch did not know and silence descended on the table once more. George was the second to speak up and this time, he asked the question that was secretly on everybody’s mind.

“Dad, has Kinglsey said anything new about the muggle group?” Arthur merely frowned, shook his head, and turned his attention back to the food. The rest followed the action, eating in silence. But it wasn’t a terrible silence, it wasn’t lacking or yearning in any way, there was simply the absence of conversation.

Once dinner was over, the food was put up, and Hermione was more full than she had been in a while, she walked over to Pig and secured the letter before watching him haphazardly fly away. She heard a shuffle from behind and turned around. It was Fred, standing quietly to the left. She smiled at him.

“‘Mione, I know you haven’t been speaking to many people but I wanted to tell you that,” he leaned in, looked around, and whispered, “we don’t trust what’s happening anymore. I don’t think you’ve heard much about it but there are rumors that the muggles are trying to harvest our magic. Nobody knows much of anything anymore but be careful. Ron might be gone but you’re still part of the family and the same with Harry, no matter what.” With that, the twin walked away and Hermione was left alone once more. She appreciated the warning from the man she still regarded as family, maybe he was like a cousin to her, and felt herself become slightly more okay with the thought of visiting Narcissa Malfoy. And despite her hesitance, she found herself thinking of the untouched books in the Black library. Did they really want her help or was it just another trap to get her back under Bellatrix’s dagger? Hermione shuddered and willed the thought away as she turned to look for the family to say goodbye.

Bidding farewell to the Weasleys had been harder than expected. The motherly worry was apparent in Molly’s eyes, and in her hastily giving the young woman the remaining leftovers to take home, and Ginny, handing Hermione a spare DA coin, promised to keep in touch, as did the rest of the family except Percy, but the two were never really close anyways. With a promise to not be a stranger, Hermione departed. The night, she felt, was still young and the sky was clear with the moon illuminating the horizon. Instead of apparting back, the young woman decided to first walk through the field.

There was no destination in mind but that didn’t matter. Following the chirping of crickets, she found herself in the same clearing where Harry dueled Bellatrix after setting the Burrow on fire. It was weird to be back. The grass was still charred in some places and Hermione assumed it was from deflected hexes. Sitting in the middle, she felt exposed and wondered if Harry had felt that same. Then again, whether it be the Dursleys or Voldemort, someone was always after him so he must have constantly been aware of the surroundings. There was a slight crack to the right and Hermione, impressed with her own instinct, turned around quickly as her eyes swept across the landscape. Upon turning, directly to her side, all she saw were a pair of yellow eyes gleaming in the dark. Before she could react, the animal sprang towards her. Alone and undignified, Hermione yelped and immediately turned red from embarrassment. Somehow, she had found Crookshanks, or maybe it was the other way around. Scooping the cat up, she examined him for any injuries. Finding none, she nodded and stood up to leave. As the image of Grimmauld Place began to materialize, the witch took a quick survey of the area before apparting away with her cat. Unfortunately, she had failed to notice the second pair of eyes, with irises as dark as midnight, watching her hidden in the tall blades.

As always, the house was dark and empty, void of all life except the now two inhabitants. Feeding the kneazle, Hermione chewed her lip in thought as she made a plan to get an owl soon. After the visit with the Weasleys, she realized she might want to be in contact with more people. Especially if it meant she could contact them on her own. Before tonight, when communicating with Luna, the Gryffindor always had to wait for her friend’s owl to come to her. But now, she knew it would be in her best interest to actively reach out to the others. And maybe, through this way, she would begin to put herself back into the magical society, or what was left of it anyways. Perhaps little by little, the Golden Girl could put herself back together and maybe, hopefully, she would come out better than before.

The next day, Hermione woke, listless, to the same feeling of desperation that seized her heart and constricted her throat. It would seem that last night was a rare moment of serenity but now she was back to normal. There was a pecking sound coming from the sitting room’s window and she went to inspect it. Since moving into the house, the muggleborn was either too embarrassed or too ashamed, she wasn’t sure which it was, to sleep in one of the rooms. And fearing a reprimand from the portraits, another reason why she stayed on the ground and basement floors, the Brightest Witch of Her Age simply opted to sleep in the dining room by the fireplace. It was warm and the space wasn’t big enough to disturb her with an overwhelming sense of loneliness. 

Tapping at the glass was a brown and speckled Scops owl with ember eyes that reflected burning coals from the fireplace. It was waiting patiently as Hermione unlatched the door, believing it to belong to McGonagall. Of course, this assumption was correct. The bird perched on the table while the woman took the small parchment off its leg. The note was small and simple and read:

_Hermione,_

_It is undeniably relieving to hear from you. You are correct, I do have a pensieve. Attached around Harlan’s neck is a small, circular portkey. It will take you to my family’s home in Scotland whenever you are ready. I will be expecting you sometime within the day._

She looked up at Harlan, a fitting name for the calm owl, who was gazing intently at her. Gingerly, she reached and grabbed the pendant from around his neck. On him, the portkey had looked like a family crest but now she could clearly make out the distinct and delicate lines running across the golden shell that used to belong to a garden snail. Glancing around to figure out the time, Hermione decided that it was best to travel on an empty stomach. Quickly, she turned back to the dining room to gather her beaded bag, an item she always carried around these days, and slowly walked towards the stairs. 

Hermione gulped. She hadn’t been in Sirius’ childhood room at all since Harry had died. The stairs creaked, notifying the portraits of her presence as she made her way upstairs. The Brightest Witch of Her Age once again found herself questioning the reason, or better yet, the sanity, behind her decisions. Why couldn’t she just focus on the issue at hand and seek out Narcissa? In her mind she knew it made the most sense and yet she couldn’t find or muster the energy required to do so. Maybe she sought out peace and maybe, just maybe, Hermione would find it in the most treasured and intimate moments of her best friend’s life. Or perhaps all she needed was to see Harry’s face again. But regardless of the reason, the Golden Girl’s life had been brought to a standstill and only the Golden Boy could resume it. 

As Hermione stepped onto the landing, a cacophonous uproar began to sound throughout the floor. Either unphased or uninterested, she couldn't tell which but knew a distinction between the two was important to note, the muggleborn calmly walked past the portraits screaming bloody murder with her back straight until she reached the sacred space that had been passed from godfather to godson. Secretly she was proud of the disinterest and indifference that had been projected, as if from her mind’s eye, onto herself. Yes, Godric Gryffindor would be proud indeed and this, whether it was true or not, reassured the witch immensely. It wasn’t until she stepped into the dim room that everything suddenly felt real. A thin layer of dust had already begun to build and everything somehow smelled older than it was. It reminded the know-it-all of the Hogwarts library’s Restricted Section, a place she spent the majority of her education in after receiving an annual permission pass from McGonagall.

Directly in front of the door lay the bed which had remained untouched and unkept since Harry and Hermione were put into the arena some time before. This was not something she wanted to think about. And yet, she was assaulted by repeated images of the man collapsing under the weight of himself. It was as if she had been strapped to a chair with her eyelids forced open as she watched the fall of the Boy Who Lived. At night, in the hours where the body is at its weakest, the young woman often found herself plagued by nightmares of what happened and memories of another life. Except, and she didn’t know why this happened or if it occurred the same for everyone else, Hermione always stood from a distance as she watched herself, as if detached from reality, doing nothing to prevent the boys’ fall. Of course, she knew there wasn’t anything logically that could’ve been done. The only thing that could have stopped the boys, she wondered if she’d ever refer to the two as men, was each other. And after waking from the onslaught of nightmares, Hermione would find herself unable to sleep, sweating and panting and frantic, wanting to reprimand the two for being so reckless and causing their own deaths, or maybe for having fallen victim to Mister’s iron will. It’s funny, she realized not long after returning, the Dark hadn’t been able to kill them, that was something only they could do. _Perhaps,_ she’d think, _we caused this._ Though, she never was sure what _this_ she was referring to. It could’ve been their death, but that’s too obvious, or what if it was everything that had happened to them after the Dark Lord’s demise. But at the end of the day, she knew she had once again led herself down the rabbit hole. 

_Lumos._ “Hello” She called out weakly as if expecting Harry’s ghost. There was no response and Hermione wasn’t sure if this absence soothed her more or less. The room was silent, the house was silent, and the world had stood still the moment her best friend died.

The vials were on a dresser on the right wall, this was where the picture book of his parents rested along with the golden snitch. Half of the left wall was covered in boxes of Harry’s clothes, uniforms, and old school notes. Hermione wondered when she would be able to begin sorting through the belongings, or at least stop actively avoiding the memories. But that would be for another time. For now, she just needed the comfort of his presence. That wasn’t too much to ask for, was it? Before she could think herself into doubtful despair over whether or not it was appropriate to seek sympathy at a moment like this, Hermione pocketed the vials and headed back downstairs to retrieve the portkey. This time she really did ignore the shouting threats. For now, she would do what her house did best and go with her gut.

_Accio._ Reaching out to grab the enchanted object, she was immediately overcome with the familiar, though nauseating, sensation of being tugged across the country by her navel. Bracing herself, the witch tried to land steadily by walking, something she had seen the Diggorys do when they all traveled together to the Quidditch World Cup, but found herself to be a complete novice as she fell ungracefully to the ground again. No matter how many times she had done it, magical transportation never was her forte and the muggleborn felt it had been a great affront. But at least it was over now.

Hermione found herself somewhere in the Scottish Highlands and wondered how close she was to Hogwarts. In front of her stood a comfortable cottage and despite the quaint appearance, the young woman could feel the house thrum against the ancient magic surrounding it. The pressure she felt was nowhere close to that of regular wards or charms, this was somehow lighter and more unsuspecting, but much deadlier. After all, it was, she assumed, the McGonagall’s family magic that brought the home into existence and continued its maintenance.

A Scottish lilt roused her out of her musing. “Ms. Granger, I’m sure the trip has found you well?” Professor McGonagall had watched her star student tumble rather gracelessly out of the sky and waited while the other women distractedly admired the landscape. Hermione blushed. After spending a year on the run and an extra day being forced to survive, what a funny idea, the Headmistress had caught her off guard. Though Headmistresses often caught students and ex-students alike in such a dazed state. 

There was a twinkle in McGonagall’s eyes and Hermione smiled. “Professor McGonagal, thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Oh, my dear, you have finished your schooling. Call me Minerva and let’s view the other as a friend.”

“Of course Prof- sorry, Minerva.” Hermione reminded herself to die from embarrassment when she got back to Grimmauld Place. It would seem she was not at her best right now. Not only that but, her mentor, friend, and, dare she say, role model was the one to witness such a condition. Luckily the very same woman had the social grace, or at least the kindness, to ignore the younger woman’s awkwardness as she ushered her in.

The inside was just like the outside, comfortable and comforting. It was simple and there was no other way Hermione could or would describe it. It was the kind of house that made a person yearn to live out in the countryside. She could see herself sitting on a chair and watching the sun and moon traverse the sky as day became night. Maybe she could have a peaceful life after all. But wistful thinking regarding another life was not what she came here to do.

McGonagll, after so many years at Hogwarts she couldn’t even think of the woman as Minvera, set out tea and scones for the two. She motioned for Hermione to take a seat on the nearest reading chair in the sitting room. This must be near where the pensieve sat. They sat in silence for a moment, each wondering about a way to begin the conversation. Though, without the present context, the moment could have felt like a comfortable silence between two old friends. And maybe that’s what it was.

It could have been because of the many years she spent teaching, perhaps she no longer experienced the different types of silence, that the Headmistress was the first to speak. “I hear you spoke to the Weasleys recently. How did that go?” Hermione found herself taken aback. News gets around fast when time is not wasted. Minerva must have noticed the surprise flicker across her hazel eyes as she quickly added on, “Molly sent an owl not long after yours. They worry about you.”

Luckily, the Golden Girl regained her composure. “Yes, I visited last night to borrow Pig and stayed to catch up briefly. It- it was nice, like old times.” The older woman watched while her younger companion chewed on her lip, lost in thought. Hermione wondered if she was losing her edge, of what little she had, or if she just simply had to readjust herself to allow for more social interactions. Either way, her conversation skills left much to be desired. But like the levelheaded woman she was, Minerva simply smiled and nodded in response. There was a pause for Hermione to continue. “As I stated in the letter, you are the only person I know of who owns a pensieve. I am unsure if you are aware but Harry left all of his belongings to me with the exception of his brooms. This includes certain memories as well. And the other day I was approached by Andy who wishes for me to research some information. I know I must but I cannot find myself doing so and I think this is because, and I know this is a very muggle response, I need closure but from what I do not know.”

“And you feel as if seeing Harry’s memories will help you?” She nodded and McGonagall looked at her with a raised eyebrow. Distracted, she clutched her beaded bag and the other woman noticed this sign of slight distress.

Hermione hadn’t told her mentor about the Resurrection Stone or Tonks’ uncertainty regarding the muggles and knew it was best not to involve the central Hogwarts authority figure since it was an institution that remained interconnected to the Ministry. Not to mention the scandal that would arise if anyone knew of the Headmistress’ involvement in conspiracies against the unofficial leader of Magical Britain. Though she had a secret sneaking suspicion that the other woman already knew about, or at least had an idea of, what was not being said.

Her eyes were downcast as Minerva said, “Of course, I am more than happy to help.” Hermione knew her friend alluded to the current situation and would be more than willing to help out, but she also knew the great risk that came with being caught. And at the end of the day, she wasn’t willing to risk any casualties. 

“Thank you, truly, for everything.”

With that, the two stood up and Hermione was led to the hallway and stairs. On the wall stood a cupboard that, when tapped three times with a wand while uttering a secret spell, opened to reveal a quite sophisticated granite stand containing a metal pensieve. Etched within the stone were symbols so ancient, Hermione could neither decipher nor dub ‘ruins’. On her side, she vaguely heard McGonagall tell her that the phrase could only be read by someone of the pureblood Scottish line. And that was all she had to offer about the intricate and strange writing.

Minerva stood a respectful distance away. “I will wait here while you find what you need.” And Hermione was thankful for the gesture as she cracked a smile before setting about finding the vials within the bag.

There were five in total, though she did not know how many memories each contained, and each was labeled thoughtfully. Had Harry always been this prepared for death? Or was it just something he kept for himself? Hermione frowned. It could have been something he had been saving to hopefully show his children someday. They read: _Mum & Dad, Hogwarts, Voldemort, Dursleys, Hermione _.

The last one caught her eye. What did it mean? Were they for her or about her? Before now, she never read the vials. In fact, the only thing she knew about them was the fact that they were Harry’s memories and they were left in his will. Maybe she should have looked at these before today. Or at least closer to when she received the items. Of course, she would begin with the most curious label, the last vial.

**_Hermione_ **

_The scenery began swirling as the memories took shape. She was in the arena again and fear gripped her heart. Everything was silent and she looked around. Harry was showing her the moment she brought the injured Bellatrix back to the tent. It was so surreal to see herself through another’s eyes. This was not like the time turner at all, it was much more intimate. The memory had been shortened for her but she saw it. There were odd and questionable looks that were exchanged between her and Bellatrix at various points. They were so small but Harry had noticed before either of them. It was weird and felt incriminating. Hermione found herself wanting to tell him that she was tending to her weary and distrustful patient’s wounds. The looks from both sides were out of caution and alertness and she wanted it to be known. What reason would Harry have given to show this? Why would he include it? Were these memories of the arena for her or about her? The landscape switched and she found herself back at a familiar spot. She was back at the tree fighting Rabastan. But now she watched from where Harry stood as he dueled Ron._

_If Hermione hadn’t been watching so closely, she might have missed it. How did she not notice he was crying? Except he wasn’t exactly. No, Harry’s eyes had watered but not a single tear had dropped. And yet it seemed that the liquid continued to build but never fell. Wouldn’t there be an excess? As the laceration spell was released and Ron began to stumble as the blood built, Harry quickly retrieved a vial from his jean pocket. The tears slid into the glass._

_It was just like her nightmares all over again. Ron went down but not without his revenge. Harry was struck, with the small bottle in hand, and the memory went dark for a moment. Had he been so prepared the entire time? In the moments before dying, the Boy Who Lived sought to secure his memories. Then the memory did something odd. She found herself in the Forbidden Forest. And it looked like Hogwarts was still intact. Was this the moment when he died by Voldemort as well?_

_Hermione watched as Harry stood, confused and dejected, in the clearing with the golden snitch. And the words were back, ‘I open at the close’, but this time he knew what to do. Pressing his lips slowly against the ball, he was surprised by it opening to reveal the Resurrection Stone. Hermione couldn’t help but smile, he was prepared in the best way possible. This was the key to her best friend._

_Retrieving it, Harry turned the stone thrice in his hand. She couldn’t help but gasp as Lily and James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black materialized. But the scene dispersed and it came as quickly as it went. Hermione assumed this missing conversation was placed in the first vial. What was left was Harry, alone in the forest once more as he let the stone fall out of his hand and onto the forest floor. The Resurrection Stone was still in the Forbidden Forest, in the clearing where Harry had left it. Hermione smiled, this was it._

She surfaced from the memory. It felt like it had only been a second but as she looked around, she noticed the sun had moved. McGonagall was still by her side and Hermione was grateful, if not a little guilty, that the older woman had had to stand for an unspecified amount of time. But Minerva didn’t seem to mind and simply asked, “Were you able to find what you needed?”

“Yes I did, thank you. And I need to go set about doing something but before I leave, and terribly sorry for the rushed nature of this visit, what time is it?” Her friend nodded gracefully and Hermione began to place the vials back in the beaded bag.

“It is about high noon and do be careful, Ms. Granger. I do not wish to see recklessness from the last of the Golden Trio.” The warning was clear but both knew whatever the Golden Girl was going to do would not be reckless. No, Hermione never was like Harry and Ron in that way. And with a hasty hug goodbye, the Gryffindor set out to the Forbidden Forest.

Luckily, she was able to apparate directly to the edge of the forest since the destruction of the school also caused the anti-apparition wards to fall. Though, who would need such security anymore where the old milestone used to stand? There was hardly anything of value or use that was left after the explosive fall. Hermione looked around and it seemed that she did not attract dangerous situations like Harry and Ron did. She was the safe one. This reassuring, if not self-assured, thought lended a sense of tranquility to the witch as she aimlessly walked deeper into the forest, hoping to come across the spot he had reached. The memory did not show where or how far he walked and the logistics of the recounted story were never a big deal, though, to be fair, all Harry had told the two was that the stone existed. The point had really been about Lily and James and neither Ron nor Hermione put it past him. The Resurrection Stone existed but was not to be used and that’s all that mattered.

Though she had never walked herself into any life-threatening situations, Hermione found herself tripping over a large root and falling off of what felt like a cliff. There was a substantial drop past the large oak. Disheveled, she stood up. There were leaves and twigs in her now frizzy hair and dirt caked on her knees. She groaned. This brought her back to the days before she found those spells for unruly hair. It was like being a first year all over again. Dusting herself off to the best of her ability, Hermione grumbled incoherently and looked around. Maybe it was good that she fell. Suddenly she found herself in the middle of the exact same clearing she had just visited in Harry’s memories. Either that or it was a very good replica. But chances were, this was the spot. Unfortunately since a common summoning spell would not work on the Deathly Hallow, the Brightest Witch of Her Age found herself on the forest floor, scouring for the miniscule stone. The task felt impossible but the muggleborn had been known to defy the odds.

Hermiones’s hands groped at the ground as her eyes scanned in front of her. After all, multitasking was a damned good skill of hers and she would be remiss if she didn’t try it. And weirdly enough, though maybe not a surprising feat for her, it seemed to be working. The twigs and leaves were easy to distinguish by feel and her eyes retained a sharpness that had developed during the war. She could see every detail of the forest from the ants moving dirt for their queen’s comfort to the curious, hidden gazes of unicorns from a distance. And if she focused, she could even feel the hum of magic within the forest, an impressive talent for pureblood to hone and she, a muggleborn, had done so effortlessly. Unfortunately, there was too much magic permeating throughout the area so detecting the stone would be virtually impossible.

Fortunately, since she had fallen randomly into the middle, as had the stone, versus the edge of the opening, it would most likely be easier to find the magical relic. The search continued and, had she been acting like her old self before arriving, she would have persevered but new things always come up and Hermione found herself losing hope. The day was stretching and she was none the luckier. She sat down and sighed. And in her mind, she quickly devised a schedule so that she could come looking for it once more tomorrow morning and the next day if need be. But she was stubborn and didn’t want to give up just yet, even if she didn’t expect anything to come from the extra allotted time. So she stayed sitting on the forest floor, dejected. She picked up a small rock, which was not the stone, she already checked, and aimlessly tossed it in frustrated hopelessness.

_Clink!_ There was a weird noise that occurred when the rock landed and Hermione’s ears perked up. Assuming a trajectory with a comfortable distance, she walked over to where the estimated projectile landed. And there it was, the rock she had thrown. She retraced the path with her steps in the direction of the throw. Diagonally across the rock, a slight distance in between, lay a small black stone. If she hadn’t known any better, she would have thought it to be just another rock. But she did know better. This was the Resurrection Stone, the second Deathly Hallow bestowed by Death himself. Carefully, she knelt down to pick it up and began to turn the stone thrice in hand.

Hermione closed her eyes and looked up. There he stood, pale and beautiful, like the ghost of Ravenclaw tower, the Grey Lady. Harry smiled at her sadly and she found herself wanting nothing more than to throw herself in his arms. Except he was gone and dead.

“Harry, I’m so sorry. For everything. I should have protected you better and I should have watched out for you. You should have survived instead of me.” 

“‘Mione, don’t feel guilt that you survived and I didn’t. Remember what I told you, that it had to be you.” His tone was gentle and he for the first time, he truly sounded at peace. For this, Hermione was thankful. 

There was still something that nagged at her. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t. I had hope and this is how it all turned out.“ Was the cryptic response. Since when was Harry so withholding and secretive? There was so much she wanted to tell him and ask him. But if she opened the floodgate of her thoughts, it would never close. Sometimes, it was better to remain silent. This paid off. Harry continued, gesturing to his heart he said, “Do you remember what I told you about my parents? That they are always with me in here, where it counts. Know that you cannot see me, but if you focus, you will feel my presence. I am always with you. And I know why you came and it’s okay, there’s nothing to forgive.”

This made Hermione tear up but she did not know why. Maybe it was a range of the many things that had been held inside of her, gripped closely to her heart out of fear for future pain. She did not know what Harry spoke of when he said he knew the reason why she sought him out. Rather than question him, and by extension herself, Hermione chose to remain silent as she tightened her hold on the stone, as if willing Harry to live through it. There was a moment before she spoke, her voice suddenly hoarse.

“Harry, I can’t let you go and I won’t let you go.”

The young man was silent for a moment as he thought carefully about what to say next. “Hermione, you now own the entire Deathly Hallows: the Elder Wand, Resurrection Stone, and Invisibility Cloak. You are now the true Master of Death. What you do now with that will determine the future, yours and mine. Remember that power is just power, and how it’s used is solely up to you. Should it fall into the wrong hands, it can corrupt even a newborn.” She knew all of this already, the warning was clear in every story. But she couldn’t do what Harry had before when he left the stone, and by extension everyone else, behind and didn’t know if it was weakness or strength that guided her. And she knew that with every warning, came a hint as well. 

“I will find a way to bring you back.” She did not fear death, and Harry knew this, because it came with life and she understood that. There was beauty in the unforgiving nature. But it wasn’t like she could let him go so easily either. And despite the warning and caution surrounding the Hallows, Hermione found herself consumed by the thought of resurrecting the Boy Who Lived. And, while she had never been one to study or actively seek necromancy, like any other form of study, she respected the thought.

He nodded. “Then for both our sakes, I hope you do.” The two had actively accepted their fates as defiers of death, each in their own way, because they knew what they were doing and would not stop until it was achieved. She would find a way to bring him back to life in whole and with his soul intact once again. Hermione had no misgivings, this would be a difficult, strenuous, and soul-corrupting, for her at least, task, but it was hers and she accepted it. “But until you do, know that I am always with you no matter what.” With those words, she closed her eyes and vanished any desire of her dead best friend away. And like he came, Harry left in the form of smoke. With great caution, Hermione placed the stone in a small, empty case she found near the bottom of her bag. When she returned, she would place the Hallows somewhere safer and more secretive than Grimmauld Place.

But before the Golden Girl would defy nature itself, there was something she would have to do. So she backbernered that for later and set on her way back towards Hogwarts, Hermione always secretly prided herself on her gifted sense of direction. She looked up. It was getting to be late afternoon.

The walk back was nice and quicker than before, but this was usually the case when leaving a previously unidentified location. When she came out of the forest, Gryffindor found herself by Hagrid’s hut and, following the path, set towards the ruined castle. Silently, the muggleborn sent thanks that the weather had been pleasantly fair lately. As she approached, the magical energy grew stronger and Hermione wondered why, or more importantly how, traces remained. Perhaps Tonks was right in her suspicion. Everyone knew, or at least slightly guessed, there was something secretive about the muggles but no one knew what. Though, in the end, the situation was not determined by abstract concepts such as right and wrong or good and evil. All that mattered now was safety of the masses and that required facts backed by hard data.

The rubble remained piled like how it had fallen. It seemed that nobody had done anything with the school yet, but how could they when all anyone knew about construction was the magic behind it. As she walked closer to the school, Hermione noticed that small holes began to liter the property. She stopped and looked at one. Inside, it appeared that, what she assumed from the deep hole, someone, presumably the Unknown, had begun digging the substance out. But even Hermione could tell by the way the dirt cracked and layered that the targeted extractions ended long ago enough that the earth around it was starting to come back to life. Maybe they were waiting for the seasons to transition to spring. But then, wasn’t it important and required immediate attention? And if not, then why couldn’t they begin to rebuild Hogwarts or at least initiate the discussion? If they hadn’t removed the substance in its entirety, was it okay to return? If not, then why hadn’t it been removed? But then again, these were questions nobody was willing to ask, not even Shacklebolt could. A small part of Hermione wondered if anyone even thought this was an issue, or even doubted Mister. Then she would remember they were wizards and did not know that president was a title first and a name second.

Approaching the school, nothing stood out. In fact, there was no difference, besides the initial observation of the scattered miniature digging sites, or any outstanding issues on the entire school grounds. And Hermione was not sure if this was what she expected or not. Nonetheless, it surprised her. Reminding herself of the thought of time’s arrow neither standing still nor reversing, the witch conjured an image of Grimmauld Place and apparated away.

She landed on the doorstep outside and scowled, she was once again reminded of the wards surrounding the old home. Maybe she could figure out a way for the wards to recognize her and bypass this, especially since apparition was allowed inside. After all, she was now the sole owner of the house. It’s funny how life turns out. At a time, under no circumstances would a muggleborn have been allowed in and now here she stood, the proud daughter of dentists, the owner.

Hermione had just unlocked the door, it always took her a minute to find the magic key, and was beginning to open it when a blurred, brown mass crashed into the wood. Startled, the young woman let out a squeak that, luckily nobody was around to hear, matched the exact pitch of the animal that had just appeared. She squinted and watched the bird come to its senses. It was an owl with a small body and large eyes. She smiled, it was Pig. And there was a note attached to his leg.

_Hermione,_

_As a token of appreciation and a gift of good fortune, I give you Pig. I know you don’t have an owl and I asked mum and she said it’s okay. Besides, we have Errol, Hermes, and Arnold. And anyways, Ron would’ve wanted you to have him anyways. You’re family, don’t forget. I can’t wait to hear from you._

_With love,_

_Ginny_

The note was sweet and the sentiment was touching. Hermione’s vision blurred as she lifted her head to blink away the tears. She would need to visit the Weasleys more, she had missed the gregarious family. Setting the note aside and Pig on the window seal, maybe there was a mouse somewhere in the house that he could eat, she made her way to the table to notify Narcissa of her decision. Worried about making a better impression on the Malfoy, and mother who saved Harry, Hermione quickly wrote out a note to the woman and gave it to Pig before she could regret what was written:

_Madame Malfoy,_

_Please forgive the wait I have caused, I am ready._

_Hermione Granger_

The pureblood would remember what this was about, right? She shook the doubt away and searched her beaded bag while waiting for a response. Where was her notebook? _Accio._ She smiled, thank Merlin for magic. Hermione paused to collect her thoughts then began to write. She would go ahead and record her notes on what she had seen at Hogwarts. Like any good researcher, this included all observations and questions regarding the collapsed sight. Once she was done, the notes only took a moment since the know-it-all perfected the use of magical writing, she set about placing a compartment in the bag. Upon her specific touch, the section, which held the appearance of a small pocket, would materialize into a shrunken receptacle, secured by ancient and new wards (she was particularly proud of one she made that would cause painful, ever-enlarging, and poisonous boils that, once reaching its maximum size, would pop and the explode pus that promptly burned away skin, muscle, and bone upon contact), that contained the three Deathly Hallows. It was an incredible risk but Hermione was confident in the strength and rigidity of her protective enchantments.

Satisfied, she sat down and began to reread _Hogwarts: A History_ another time. It was a good way to kill time and a fantastic novel on the school and its history, aptly named. She hadn’t even finished the first chapter before a large, spotted black owl hooted from the window. It was majestic and if Hermione had to guess, belonged to the Malfoys. She unfastened the window latch as the bird flew in. A note was attached to the leg and was decorated in a beautiful and intricate script. So delicate was the writing that the Brightest Witch of Her Age briefly considered learning the art of calligraphy.

_Ms. Granger,_

_I am pleased that you have notified me. I will expect you to arrive early afternoon tomorrow and we will apparate to Black Manor. Heed my warning, my dear sister is unaware of this. Be prepared, should she become reactive._

_Kindly,_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

It was not encouraging in the slightest but it was a plan nonetheless. Tomorrow, either everything or nothing would change. There was no inbetween, and this Hermione knew to be a fact. But for now, she would eat a small meal and go to sleep. Planning her night, she headed downstairs to the kitchen in the basement. 

There was only one thing available to eat and that was leftovers of the meat pie she ate last night at the Weasleys’. And as most leftovers are, it was delicious. That evening, Hermione slept with the fireplace roaring comfortably. And if she imagined hard enough, it almost was like being back in the girl’s dormitory of Gryffindor tower. She dreamt of Harry and, she’d never tell anyone this, of everything she’d read about in _Hogwarts: A History_ and in the depths of her sleep-ridden mind, she pictured pale skin and dark, curly hair.

Hermione woke around midmorning and, once stretching, a luxury she hadn’t allowed herself since Harry’s death, set out preparing herself for the awkward encounter. First, she would go to muggle London and run a few kilometers through the city, following a route she and her mother used to enjoy when she returned in the summer. Then she would find a cafe to pick up a small snack and head back. Upon returning, she’d eat quickly, clean up, gather her belongings, check the time, if it was too early, she’d continue reading, and appartate to Malfoy Manor. And that is exactly how everything went. All in all, the morning went smoothly and Hermione was pleased with herself for planning so well. She wasn’t reborn but maybe she was beginning to heal herself. In the end, that’s all she could hope for.

The schedule was timed perfectly. Confirming everything, the hidden Deathly Hallows and notebook recording her findings at Hogwarts, was in her beaded bag, Hermione set out, but could it really be considered that if she was just apparating, to Malfoy Manor. The esteemed family’s land appeared the same, albeit brighter, imposing structure as it had when she first visited. As she walked to the gate, the peacocks were strutting across the grounds and Hermione, for the first time, saw the beauty of the bird. When she arrived at the entrance, the gates swung open and she wasn’t sure if it was because she had previously visited the property or if Narcissa was somehow allowing her in but if she had to pick, she’d believe it was the latter. The distance to the mansion door had given the muggleborn enough time to compose her thoughts and strengthen the barriers of her mind. She was truly prepared for whatever lay ahead.

Luckily, the pureblood did not invite the muggleborn in and Hermione was grateful for the small kindness. When she arrived at the door, Narcissa wasted no time, offering a simple nod and “Ms. Granger” as greeting, in stiffly offering her arm for the two to apparate. The touch was awkward but only lasted a second before the younger woman swiftly withdrew her hand from the woman’s forearm. She opened her eyes, not realizing they were closed, and had to refrain from gaping. The Malfoys’ home was a cottage compared to Black Manor. Hermione swallowed as she realized her place, at least economically, in the wizarding world. It was immaculate and reflected a minimalist, yet sophisticated design. Past the entrance gate, between the two doors, stood a grand fountain. In the middle, was the shape of a man whose eyes, though only a statue, conveyed authority and a jawline that was passed down through the Black family. Without having ever met the patriarch, Hermione could recognize the form of Cygnus Black III anywhere.

Large hedges trimmed in the shapes of various magical creatures lined the path to the front door. As the two women walked down the path, Hermione noted, in order, the different animals. Starting at farthest end, with two of each on both sides, was a Hungarian Horntail, Horned Serpent, Sea Serpent, Basilisk, the Black’s, it seemed, greatly admired the Slytherin house symbol, Sphinx, and at the end stood perhaps the queerest choice, a Phoenix. Approaching the serpent’s lair, the Gryffindor wondered about the choice of creatures, specifically the Phoenix, and the order in which they were displayed. And if this was anyone else’s family home, she might have considered asking about the meanings. But this was the primary Black family home and Hermione would be a fool to question the adorned decorations.

Before she knew it, Narcissa stopped in front of the door. Casting a spell, the large wooden opening creaked from its own weight. Turning around to regard Hermione, the woman spoke for the first time since her arrival to Malfoy Manor, “Ms. Granger, I recommend you stay near me.“ Her voice was cordial and polite but unattached, as was the pureblood teaching. Hermione nodded and did as instructed, quickly stepping behind the regal woman. With that, the two stepped over the invisible threshold and into the ancient home.

Despite the sunlight streaming in through the tall windows, the inside was dark and silent and empty. She swallowed. Was Bellatrix even there? And if not, would it just be left to Hermione and Madame Malfoy to search the library? She couldn’t decide which would be better to be alone in a room with Bellatrix or Narcissa, but the answer was most likely neither of the sisters. Maybe she could gather the information on her own. But this was not a realistic hope and Hermione knew it so she dispelled the fantasy of wandering the home alone. What if the dark witch had known all along and was hidden in a corner, waiting to spring out at a moment that was least expected? She shook a head a little to clear the thoughts. Distracting questions would not help right now. 

Narcissa led the way and Hermione considered that maybe the witch was not currently on the property. They walked across the grand foyer and past a large drawing room, heading towards a beautiful, mahogany spiraling staircase. If she had ever been religious, the muggleborn would have easily believed this is what the stairway to heaven would look like. Even the steps themselves contained a great deal of miniscule, intricate carvings. No one engraving, even slightly, resembled another, they were all original and they were all personal. 

Hermione carefully walked up each step with great precision, as if the wrong step could destroy the beautiful piece. And though it was slightly internalized blood, or maybe financial, inferiority, she felt as if her touch would ruin the integrity of the home. Narcissa paid no heed to this as she continued her way to the second floor. There, they stepped onto a deep green rug that, upon contact, enveloped the foot. It was lush and reminded her of muggle shag rugs. The muggleborn wondered if maybe she should have taken her shoes off, or if it was more disrespectful to walk around on bare feet than the possibility of trekking any dirt inside. But she remembered that this was a pureblood home and that magic was used for everything. So maybe there was a preservation charm that worked like a cleaning spell, at least she hoped this.

The guide stopped at the second room on the right. The doors, made of stained glass and wood, were ajar and Narcissa only applied a slight force to open. Hermione did not get a chance to look around or even fully step into the impeccable library before a voice sounded from deeper inside.

“Cissy, why are you here?” There was a rustling for a moment before the noise stopped and the library was quiet once more. A head of dark curls appeared from behind an imposing cabinet that contained magical relics. Bellatrix began to walk to her sister and Hermione, remembering she was hidden behind Narcissa, couldn’t help but fidget. The movement caught the predatory witch’s eye before she paused and squinted suspiciously. “Muddy?” Hermione knew that from now on, whatever happens, there’s no going back. And she was as ready as she’d ever be.


End file.
